


(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

by Bettername



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cloaca, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Xeno, underage meaning they are both mid to late teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bettername/pseuds/Bettername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davesprite is a sexually frustrated hormonal sprite. Unfortunately for him his options on board the ship are not looking good. However, all it takes to change his luck is one dream bubble with an inhabitant who might be just as kinky as himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics are from Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones.

I can't get no satisfaction   
I can't get no satisfaction   
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try   
I can't get no, I can't get no  
Satisfaction  
-Rolling Stones

 

John is not a homosexual. And you strongly doubt that he is bird sprite whatever the fuck you are sexual and you are in no hurry to find out. Self ministrations can only go so far to satisfy your whacked out bird junk, but you just don’t want to broach the subject of bestiality with your best friend. The best friend that you are going to be stuck in close quarters with for another two years. Jade, well Jade just doesn’t have what you need. Apparently neither do your fingers which need to reach just a little bit deeper. The sound of something heavy and metallic hitting the floor brings a swift halt to your spelunking expedition. A niggling thought wiggles its way through your thick hormonal haze. That sounded like metal on concrete, your room does not have a concrete floor. Your eyes snap open. Toto I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore. 

Drawings of schematics hang above workbenches covered with various bits of machinery and pieces of wire. You glance over at a heaping pile of robot parts in the corner of the room. This is definitely not Jade’s workshop onboard the ship. You must have fallen asleep and drifted into a dream bubble. No need to worry, all you have to do is get your feathered ass out of there before you get spotted by the bubble’s occupant. Ooo something bright and shiny. It’s a wrench. The wrench is lying by a shoe. Fuck. Last thing you would want to do is get caught finger fucking your cloaca in some troll’s bubble, cause that would be embarrassing huh? Too late. Your eyes follow the pin stripped stockings up to a pair of grey cargo shorts, over a black wife beater and stop at a pair of cracked shades. The troll’s slightly agape mouth is filled with a snag of broken and chipped teeth. He, you guess it’s a he you’re not quite how troll genders work, is frozen in shock, his right hand still stuck open from when he dropped the wrench. You follow his line of sight down to where your hips should be. Somehow you’ve managed to forget that your fingers are still buried two knuckles deep inside. This totally beats the time John almost caught you doing that thing with your tail for most embarrassing moment in your life. 

You whip your hand out of your all purpose orifice and hide it behind your back. A small drop of yellowish orange lands on the floor below you. The troll glances down at it and does a full body shudder. 

“Don’t look at that” you squawk. The troll’s skin flushes a dark blue as he starts to perspire. 

“Is that an … order?” he asks, his voice tinged with hope. Wait. Hope? Was that just hope you heard? Your eyes flicker from the sinewy muscled body that could make Jesus jealous, to the collection of ripped apart robot chunks, back to the heavily perspiring troll, and over to a painting on the far wall. How did you not see that before? The troll notices you noticing the painting. A few mangled teeth worry at his lower lip and he lets out a high barely audible whine. You allow yourself to grin ever so slightly, looks like bestiality is not going to be an issue. You straighten out your back and stretch out your wings before drawing them back.

“Yes.” The troll’s breathing hitches. “What do I call you troll?”

“Peasantblood.” Did you just hear that correctly?

“Peasantblood?”

“Yes sir” he murmurs. Either he is inexplicably polite to masturbating strangers that he ketches in his shop or he is into that sort of thing. Time to test your hypothesis out.

“You will answer me loudly and clearly peasantblood.” The troll snaps to attention.

“Yes sir!” Your grin returns. The majority of the porn on Bro’s computer was smuppet based, but there were a few sub/dom videos mixed in. The troll is practically quivering in anticipation, ready and willing for your orders. This you can work with. 

“Come.” He strides over, stopping a foot in front of you. “On your knees.” His knees hit the floor with a soft thud. The troll’s set of prehistoric shark teeth have you concerned to the point where you are not going to just rush into this. He watches you with rapt attention as you slide two fingers into your slit. Once they are properly coated you withdraw them and swipe a drenched finger over his bottom lip. You pause momentarily to admire just how well the yellow orange fluid looks against his grey skin. “Lick it off.” A dark blue tongue slips from between his parted lips and slowly glides over the smear. After a few excruciatingly drawn out licks his bottom lip is free of the viscous liquid. You feel the urge to fix that. You hold out your two dripping fingers. “Clean them off.” He happily obliges. His tongue is cool with just a hint of roughness. Now it’s your turn to watch enthralled as the blue muscle winds around your fingers eagerly lapping up your natural lubricants. He glances up to you. You nod an affirmative to his unasked question. He gently takes your hand in both of his, wraps his lips around your digits, and begins to suck. 

Once the motion of his tongue slows to a stop you withdraw your fingers with a wet pop. You remove his cracked shades and set them on a worktable. He shivers as your hidden eyes stare down at his exposed white eyes. Usually the blank eyes of the dead strike you as disturbing, now the colorless eyes focused on you make him seem vulnerable. The troll shifts slightly as you watch him. “Want more?” He nods. “Speak peasantblood.”

“Yes sir” he swiftly answers. He crawls closer to you on his knees. The delicate of feathers encircling your slit flutter with each puff of breath. You motion for him to start. He flattens his broad tongue against the bottom of the slit and licks upwards at a glacier’s pace. You dig your nails in one of his shoulders to keep yourself from shuddering. This is a complicated dance, one that you are not going to fuck up. 

“Do it correctly troll” you growl. He hesitates for a moment before resting his hands on either side of you. The troll carefully hooks his clawed thumbs around the folds of skin and gently draws them back. He swallows thickly at the sight of your exposed flesh. Your nerve endings sing with pleasure as the cool muscle laps at the outer folds of skin. You dig your nails deeper, he takes it as a sign of encouragement and starts exploring deeper. Biting down on your lip is all you can do to stifle the moans that threaten to escape. If it wasn’t for your years spent hiding your emotions you would be reduced to a writhing puddle by now. You release your tight grip on his shoulder and curl your fingers around his undamaged horn. He keens as your thumb brushes against the dark band at the base; you continue to stroke the sensitive orange new growth as your other fingers weave through his sleek curtain of hair. You guide him closer. He responds by burying his skill tongue deeper, the vibrations from his purring driving you on. Your tail brushes up against the troll’s soaked through shorts. It finds something slithering against the straining fabric. You use your tail to feel out this mysterious appendage. The troll buckles against you as your tail attempts to curl around it. You fist his hair and yank his head back. 

“Clothing. Off. Now.”He scoots back before hastily standing up. You watch as he strips off the now stained shirt, short, and stockings. The troll folds each article of clothing before setting them in a stack on the floor besides his shoes. You chide yourself for not having the forethought to order the troll to strip sooner. His well muscled chest lacks nipples and a belly button; instead there are two sets of diagonal scars along his ribcage. Your eyes trail down his abdominals, past his hipbones, and settle on the enigma his pants were hiding. Oh this will do nicely. The troll’s bulge is dark blue and dripping with similarly colored pre-cum. The squirming appendage is around ten inches in length and tapered the tip is about three fingers in width and the base is what you can only describe as substantial. You had a nagging doubt that it would fit, but that was not going to stop you from trying. 

You flutter over to a work table and prop yourself up against it with your elbows. The troll nibbles on his bottom lip as he watches you spread yourself. All it takes to have him waiting before you is a crook of your finger. “Enter me peasantblood.” The troll swallows and guides the tip of his bulge to your cloaca. You hiss as the length enters, his slick flesh cool against your burning insides. He slowly pushes in further, listening to your verbal cues, pausing at each hitch of your breath, waiting for you grow accustom to his girth. At last his hips lie flush against you. Instead of thrusting he curls his arms underneath your wings and lays his head against your shoulder. You go to say something and a twitch deep inside silences you fast. His bulge starts to undulate sending you into a shiver mess as the ridges rub against the sensitive areas that you could never reach on your own. You wrap your tail around a leg for stability as the intensity increases. The troll shudders as the tip of your tail brushes up against the slick area between his legs. 

“Please… please. Enter me.” You tease the opening with your tip and are rewarded with a desperate series of chirps. “F-fill me master.” You brush your lips against his ear.

“How can I refuse when you beg me so sweetly?” You line up the tip with his opening and push. He keens loudly and his bulge thrashes. You wrap your arms around his back and sink your nails into his thick skin. Both of your paces grow erratic, your breathing turns into ragged gasps. “Come for me peasantblood” you rasp. He braces himself up against the table as he comes, his genetic material mixing with your own. 

The two of you end up panting on the floor coated in a sticky colorful disaster. You pull off your shades and giggle. A voice in the back of your head told you that Striders certainly do not giggle. Fuck it. You just had the best orgasm in your incredibly short and complicated life, if there is a time to giggle it’s now. And you are going to fucking enjoy it. You turn your head to face him.

“I never introduced myself. The name’s Dave.” The troll props himself up on his side.

“Please excuse my lack of manners. Equius. Equius Zahhak.”

“Well Equius, I haven’t woken up yet. Wanna go again?” It takes him a moment to return your shit-eating grin with his own. 

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”


End file.
